Paranoia
by Stripes93
Summary: So maybe it was more than paranoia, maybe it was down right mortification at seeing that weapon in the hands of the blond...and thinking of what he could possibly do with it. Romerica!


Romano was not paranoid. Not in the least. Just because he was controlled by the mafia did not make him paranoid and jumpy at the sight of a sharp looking knife at the butcher shop or scream in terror at the sound of a car backfiring that may or may not have been a gun. No, he wasn't paranoid at all. Just because he may have walked in on America while he was watching the Godfather and polishing one of his guns that he kept in the safe in his office and frozen in pure terror didn't mean he was paranoid. Not. At. All.

"Romano," The half country shrieked, folding his hands together in front of him.

"Please don't shoot me! I'm sorry! I won't do it again!" He cried, tears springing into his eyes.

"Ro-" A gunshot from the TV had the Italian screaming, ducking onto the floor with his arms over his head in protection.

"_Mi dispiace_!" He cried, closing his eyes tight. "_Cristo, che è stato crocifisso per causa mia, mi ha liberato dal dolore straziante."_He started to mumble, tears falling down his cheeks.

"Romano," America touched his shoulder and he jumped, opening his eyes slowly to take in his would-be murderer. "Romano...are you okay?" The Italian stared at him momentarily before brushing his hand off and stood up, angrily wiping his tears away from his face.

"I-I'm fine, bastard." He growled, his voice tight, eyes looking downward then zeroed in on the gun in the American's hand. "I-i-i...I'm fine..." He whispered, taking a few steps back. "I'm fine," He repeated once more as though assuring himself that he was.

"Are you-"

"I said I'm fine, damn it!" He all but shouted, racing out the room, heart hammering in his chest.

America stood there in confusion, cocking his head to the side. That was...weird, even for Romano-and knew Romano did some weird stuff sometimes. "What was...that all about?" He muttered to himself, the image of Romano shuddering on the floor in fear stuck in his mind. Everybody knew both the Italy's weren't exactly the bravest country but there was nothing to be afraid here. America polished his gun's all the time and he was pretty sure Romano had watched the Godfather with him be-wait...no, he hadn't. He had suggested it one time and the Italian had gotten this look in his eye as though he had just asked him to swim in a pool full of sharks before declining and running off.

Sitting back at his desk, Alfred continued his chore, occasionally glancing to the TV when an especially good part came on. "Wait a minute," He mumbled to himself, watching the TV. He had watched this movie millions of times, could quote it nearly word for word with a perfect accent...Why hadn't he noticed sooner? "_Fuck_," He moaned, setting his gun down and stood up, running out the room to find his boyfriend. Hopefully he hadn't decided to leave.

"Romano! Romano!" The brunette sniffled, wiping his eyes but stayed silent despite hearing his boyfriend's calls, inconsiderate bastard. Lovino sat on the bed he shared with America at times, clutching a pillow tight to his chest.

"Fucking bastard," He muttered to himself, beginning to rock slowly. Why did he continue to come here? Crazy bastard probably had guns hidden all around the fucking house, probably sleeps with one under his pillow. His dark eyes slid to the side, staring at the pillow that America uses, his breath beginning to quicken. He had heard from lots of other countries to most American's slept with a gun under their pillow, sometimes even two. They had them for protection, to protect their families and loved ones...and sometimes against them.

Shakily he reached a hand out, lightly touching the pillow then pulled back like it would bite his hand off if handled too roughly. Would Alfred ever do that? Would America-one of the only people he trusted completely in this world-ever aim one of his precious pistols at him?

His mouth was suddenly dry as he grabbed the pillow, swallowing loudly. Slowly he began to lift the pillow, spotting something black before the door opened and he pulled his hand away. "Romano-"

"I knew it!" Lovino shouted. "I knew it! One of these days you were going to shoot me, weren't you?" He accused.

"Romano, what are you talking about?" America asked, stepping into the room.

"Oh, God. I should have known! You keep these fucking guns all around your house, you crazy fucking bastard, and I didn't even once suspect why you would have them." There was a note of hysteria rising in the Italian's voice. "I'm going to go to sleep one night and wake up dead! And no one's going to suspect you because you're stupid fucking America!" He was too far gone to even noticed the blond wrapping him up in his arms, trying to calm him.

"Is...is that what you really think?" America whispered, suddenly feeling too loud.

"Of course, you bastard." Romano mumbled, unconsciously snuggling deep into him, trying to find some comfort despite his terror and paranoia. "Why else would you keep a gun under your pillow?"

"A gun?" America glanced to his pillow and lifted it up, a small smirk on his face as he lifted the object up. "Lovino, it's the remote." He told him.

The brunette stared at the channel changer for a long moment before burying his face into his boyfriend's chest, cheeks flaming. "Romano," America said, petting the Italian's hair gently. "Lovino, I'm sorry." He whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't realize you were afraid sooner. But...why didn't you tell me you were afraid of guns and...things that have to do with the mafia?" He heard a mumble. "I can't hear you." He gently lifted the man's tear stained face up, seeing his eyes still glistening with wetness.

"I said...I didn't want you to know. It's not something I want anyone to know..." Romano told him, laying his head on America's shoulder. "As you see...I don't react really well."

"It's okay. I just wish you would have told me earlier." Alfred mumbled, placing a kiss on his head. "But...I can't believe you really thought I would shoot you." His voice was laced sadness and Lovino suddenly felt extremely guilty.

"I...I'm sorry about that." The brunette mumbled, clutching onto him softly. "I over reacted..."

"It's alright," America smiled gently, hugging him close. "I'll make sure to be more careful about what you see for now on. I hated seeing you so scared...I got scared myself."

"Idiot," Lovino mumbled, his own way of saying 'I'm feeling better now'. Burying his face into Alfred's starter jacket, he hugged him back, inhaling the scent. "_Ti amo_," He whispered, almost inaudibly. So maybe he was a little paranoid but right now, he felt safer than he had in a long time.

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><p><em>AN: As much as I love the idea of the Italy's being all mafia and junk I do sometimes remember canon things such as Romano actually not liking the mafia and because of them he's very paranoid. I just played on that fear, probably dragging it out to make it a bit more dramatic and I hopped it worked. Plus, I've been meaning to write some Romerica lately, I just wasn't too sure what it was going to be about and well...apparently it was about this! Hope you liked it! ~Ciao! Love Stripes!_

_Ps: I'm in college now! As much I enjoy writing chapter stories(they will be the death of me one day) expect just one-shots for a while to all my regular readers. Thank you!_


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